VTM Bloodlines: Breakfast With a Ghoul
by The Abbot of Beregost
Summary: Another interesting evening as a member of LA's Kindred community. Warning for the language, but it's nothing worse than you'd see ingame. Rated on the strong side, mostly out of spite.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Bloodlines. I was a Malkavian, and I'm too tired to get my insight on. Plus, I liked my wacky ghoul. I haven't decided which clan the protagonist belongs to...so, yeah. I've played this game too much.

I woke up, knowing there was something wrong. People. No, a person. Proximity. I kept my eyes closed, thought carefully. the forty-four was under my pillow, three inches from my hand. I remembered my dad putting a thirty-eight snubby right near the cash register, the memories flowing free and clear. My family owned a convenience store in a rough part of town. Dad bought it after being robbed at gunpoint, keep us all safe. I asked why he didn't get a fancy nine, and he looked at me funny. _Son, if you need more than six bullets, you're fucked anyways, so you might as well let them take what they want. _

Six rounds of forty-four magnum. If that didn't do the trick, well, I was fucked anyways, right? Adrenaline flooded into my cold, still blood. I tensed.

"Morning, master. Or should I say evening?"

Heather.

"Morning. I almost shot you."

"Sorry."

I opened my eyes, saw her sitting there on one of my computer chairs. A slash of lamplight bisected her face, streaming in from the barely open door. Straight red hair framed her face...it was pale. Bags under her eyes.

"How long...?"

"I've been up all night watching you sleep, making sure no one came in an' hurt you."

"Thank you, Ms. Poe."

"Heather. Call me Heather, master."

"Don't call me 'master'. It smacks of... well, never you mind. How long were you up?"

"I haven't slept since before we met. I felt..._exalted_. I feel like I'm someone better than I was before around you."

Her movements betrayed her weariness. Slow, steady motions, winces. My blood was doing some good, I guess. Her wounds were healing pretty quick, and she didn't need her glasses anymore. Hell, she had stayed up forty-eight straight hours without any help from coffee, which was pretty impressive. She smiled, a glowing thing. She seemed happy and excited all the time. Hell, the first time I saw her after ghouling her, she had given me a ring and begged to stay with me. Not something I would usually do...but I couldn't resist, ya know?

"Jeez. C'mon, let's get some food into you, and I want you to get some sleep."

Sniffsniff. Something reeked.

"And a shower and change of clothes."

"Sorry, Mas...sir."

"No formal titles."

"Okay...doesn't seem right, though."

I shook my head. She's young, she'd learn. The door opened, and I saw that my kitchen lights were on. The radio was playing in the background. I ran a hand through my hair, pulled up my worn sweatpants a little. Hell, I needed a shower, too. Heather first, though. I checked my mail - a poem from VV, some spam. I quit out of email app. VV was interesting, though I questioned how sincere she was about me being her favorite kindred.

I walked down the steps, listening to the splash of water. Turned on the TV, news. Death, death, death. I chuckled at a private joke.

_Everyone lives, but not everyone TRULY dies!_

I would have killed for a bowl of cereal like a normal person, but...well, Lucky Charms are no longer on the menu, I guess. So, I go to the fridge, jack up the volume on the radio a bit. LaCroix might be a right bastard, but at least he knows how to treat his goons well. Not only is there an open carton of two percent in there, but three of Vandal's finest blood bags beside it. The shower stopped.

The slap of bare feet on tile approached. I could hear Heather singing along to the radio. I turned to her.

"Andd I...I could have _diiiiiiiieeed_ last night...but, oh ohhh, I found a smaller gawwwd..."

She was smiling, towel over her head as she rubbed her hair furiously to dry it. She wore nothing but a pale blue tank top and her panties, but she seemed happy enough. I set the bag on the table along side the milk and a bowl.

"I'm sorry, Heather, but all we have is milk and cereal. My kind isn't exactly...fond of solid food."

"S'okay, I'll shop in the morning."

She hummed along to the song as she went to the cupboard, looking over the selection.

"I love this song," she called out to me over her shoulder as I sat down, wondering how polite society drinks out a bag. I might be just another punk out of the barrio, but even I have manners. I decided to pour some into a cup, try to be normal. I got up, and we passed each other in transit. She leaned into me, deliberately brushed up against me. Affectionate, sort of catlike. I grab a mug, sit down with her as she pours herself breakfast. There's a dim realization that if I was alive, I'd have a huge hard on right now. Well, that's the price you pay for life everlasting, right?

Awkwardly, I empty some of the bag into the mug, and hope she doesn't mind. She doesn't, just crunches away happily and listens to the radio. I sip from the mug. It's cold...which is unsettling and gives the blood a funny taste. Heather pipes up, suddenly serious.

"Why did you help me, back in the clinic?"

"What do you mean, why did I help you?"

"Dunno, master. Why?"

"You were suffering. I don't like to see people suffer. Well, good people."

Taking apart that shovelhead sure had been fun, though. Twisted, sadistic, but amusing. Anyways, he was Sabbat, making him by default a murderer and a rapist. Fucking shovelheads.

"Th-thank you, I guess. I thought I was going to die."

What exactly am I supposed to say to that?

"I'm glad I could help."

She reached across the table, took my hand, looked me in the eye.

"I would do **anything** for you, master."

The sexual tension ratcheted up a notch. I smiled, squeezed her palm gently.

"It's okay, Heather. It's not necessary. I felt bad for you, and I'm happy you're alive. I don't hold you in debt for what I did. You can leave anytime."

"I don't want to leave, master. I was lying there, after being stabbed so many times by that ugly guy-"

Fucking shovelheads.

"And you came, and you saved me. Now, I just want to help you."

I smiled, and she ate. Nothing more needed to be said. I was touched, to the bottom of my dead heart. In the entire world, I didn't think I had anyone left. I was wrong.

I made sure she got to bed, hell I even tucked her in. As soon as she was asleep, I left for another night of LaCroix's bullshit. Well, at least I know that when I get home, I can have dinner with my ghoul.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Little creative license here. I always liked VV and Heather, among others. I wondered how they'd react if they met.

Knock knock.

Who could that be?

Heather was on her feet in a second, while I reached for the Mossberg. People wanting me dead(er) was getting old.

"Who's there?"

"A woman, master. She has red hair and a trenchcoat. I don't like her."

"Stop calling me that, dammit," I grumbled as I gently pushed her out of the way. VV stared back at me from the other side of the peephole. She smiled coyly. It was sad, in a way. I handed Heather the shotgun. She frowned, and headed off to put it back beside the fridge. I undid the six locks, opened the door.

"Hello there, my very favourite Kindred," she purred at me. I smiled a bit, tongue tied.

"Velvet."

"Going to leave me standing here, cold and lonely?"

I stammered, and she stepped past me, shedding her coat into Heather's arms with one fluid motion. She was wearing a strapless red satin dress beneath her long coat. It was much less provocative than usual, but just as sexy. Heather frowned, and I could just about hear her hackles raise.

"I thought after everything we've been through, you might enjoy a nice, private dinner at home."

Like I normally have with my ghoul? I decided to play along.

"What's on the menu, then? Steak, lobster tails, enchiladas?"

She laughed, a low, rich sound. One manicured hand reached into her purse, and withdrew a blood bag.

"Vandal's very finest. I hear this vintage is from a professor of philosophy."

I chuckled a bit. Heather was still frowning and watching. She'd grown up a bit since out first breakfast. She actually damn near ran the apartment, the finances, everything. She also flirted with me constantly, but that I tried to work on. Tried to get her back to college, too, but...yeah. Ever since she brought that wannabe-rapist home, it's better she laid low. So I turned to her.

"Hey, Heather. Mind going out and grabbing some beer for me?"

"Beer?"

"Well, beer for you. Here's a fifty. Here's another, actually. I want you to get a dinner for yourself that didn't come in a brown paper bag."

"But..."

"I know. I want you to get out, maybe have a nice meal," I told her. She was staring at me, tears in her eyes, damn near. So I dug deep and played dirty.

"Darlin', you know that you mean a lot to me. I just want to treat you while I talk some business."

"You're not gonna..."

"Um. Not really."

She just about sighed in relief. Smiling, she stood on tippy-toes and gave me a peck on the cheek. Giving one more glare at VV, she almost danced out the door. There's only so far Popeyes and Burger King will get you, and honestly that's about all I could afford. I tried to get her back to school, but...yeah. She refused. At any rate, VV sat across from me at the big living room table once my ghoul was out the door. She had already poured us each a wineglass full of the sweet red stuff. I raised a glass to her. She smiled like the cat who had eaten the canary, and did likewise. I took a healthy gulp of the blood, and starting buzzing almost immediately.

"Christ on a cross, what is this stuff?"

She giggled, a low purr.

"I told you. Philosophy professor."

"What in the hell did I do warrant something this good?"

She looked at he table briefly.

"I made a few...inquiries about your past. I hope I wasn't prying. I thought we had something special, together...I just wanted to show how much I appreciated everything you did for me."

I shrugged impassively.

"Chastity wasn't a big deal, Velvet."

"I wasn't talking about that."

Oh. I must have blanched or something.

"Ripping up that script must have taken a lot out of you."

Yeah, it had, but I wasn't going to admit it.

"It wasn't easy, but it was less hard than a lot of things I've had to do for LaCroix."

She sighed.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I read your script- it wasn't half bad. A friend of mine was looking seriously at picking it up."

Something inside me ripped. Anger flared.

"I really don't want to talk about this, Susan."

She gasped a little, averted her gaze.

"That girl is dead. She died a long time ago, and I would appreciate it if you didn't bring her up again."

I didn't say anything for a few minutes, sulking to myself. VV refused to look at me, tears running down her face. I felt bad- real bad. I hadn't wanted to hurt her.

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright, I came to terms with my life a long time ago. What about you?"

I grumbled, took another swig of blood.

"I'm not doing so hot with that. I worry constantly about my ghoul. I get shipped all over the place to shoot up monsters. You know, before this, I had handled a gun about five times?"

She laughed, and the richness of her voice filled my apartment.

"I'm not surprised, somehow. You are the overwhelming compassionate type."

My eyebrow must have gone up or something, because she leant towards me, displaying gratuitous cleavage.

"Look at what you did for Venus, for me. Mercurio sings your praises to my girls every time he hears your name."

I shrugged helplessly.

"Am I supposed to let them twist in the wind, Velvet?"

"You have the option. But that's why you turn me into a sad-eyed teenager every time I see you. You're my very own white knight, in shining armor."

"But I'm not!"

"You are, dearest. I have to get back to work though. Promise me you'll have me by another time."

I smiled a bit. As she stood, she drained her glass. I walked her to the door, and she kissed me on the cheek. Holding my hand, she leaned back and stared at me.

"Not a lot of Kindred would have been trusting enough to let me that close to their necks."

I shrugged and I guess I blushed, because that laugh came back out.

"Don't ever change, I don't think my poor heart could take it."

And then she was gone. Heather was there, though. She had a bag of Jack in the Box in one hand, a crumpled up wad of bills in the other. She was crying.

"What's the matter?"

"You're....you're..." she was sobbing and trying to gasp at the same time. So I hugged her, took the bag out of her hands.

"I ain't nothin', Heather. Let's get you a proper meal," I whispered to her as her makeup started to run into my semi-clean shirt. I pulled out my cell phone.

"Hey Larry, you said somethin' about Kobe? Yeah, dog. Me and my woman..."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Gone, but not forgotten...this fic or me, I'm not sure. Also, riotously drunk and listening to country music. Forgive the Faith Hill lyrics.

We walked down the streets of Hollywood, and she sighed. I grumbled.

"I don't like this."

Ever since this whole thing started, I was always worried about Heather. Anyone could figure out that I'm just a sucker, and hurting her would hurt me. Still, she interlaced her fingers in mine. I didn't stop her as she pulled close to me.

"I know. And I appreciated the dinner."

We walked awhile, just her and me. A couple of pale youths jutted chins at me respectfully from across the street- probably ghouls. I grunted a little, felt the heavy weight of my .44 in the crossdraw on my left hip. She glanced at them, drew a little closer.

"Ignore them," she told me. I relaxed fractionally, and she squeezed my hand. I didn't know why I let her go on. Maybe I didn't want to hurt her feelings. I just wanted her to be okay.

"So...where are you from?" I asked, trying to make small talk. She squinted, sorted. Her voice dropped an octave and she had a drawl.

"Wess' Kentuuuuuucky."

I was startled, and she snorted as she laughed.

"I grew up in Lexington. Moved away, worked on my accent. Got away from all of that," she said in her normal register, looking at the cracked pavement. "Came west, started over. 'Cause this is the place where everyone starts over, isn't it?" she asked me. She looked up at me, green eyes trembling.

"Sorry, chica," I said. "I'm a born and bred Angelino."

"Oh," she mumbled, glancing away. Her hand unentangled from mine. I just grinned, slung my arm over her shoulders.

"Not a problem. You've got a fresh start, you've basically immortal, you're in college and you're not aging...what more could you want, Heather?"

She blushed. She blushed furiously, pulled away from me. Three in the morning, in Hollywood, she walks ahead a couple of paces.

"_It's the way you love me_

_It's a feeling like this_

_It's centrifugal motion_

_It's perpetual bliss..."_

She sung in her accent, twirling. I just stood and watched. She took a breath, stopped, looked at me.

"That's how I feel, master. I don't need to think about anything but you," she whispered me. People were watching, and she didn't seem to care as she slung my arm around her shoulder.

"So, how about some Carl's Junior and an O neg bag to round out the night, master?"


End file.
